Letting Go
by princesircastic
Summary: Post-Dragons. When one of his brood grows restless with life at home, Barda realises that it's time to start letting them go.


**Author's Note:** I was inspired by ASongInMyHead's return to this fandom, and decided to dig up an old work-in-progress that was never finished and therefore never saw the light of day in this fandom. I tweaked it a little bit and finished it off, partially as a test to see if writing again for this fandom is something I'm able to do, and partially as a measure of how my writing has further improved since I originally started this. Mostly, however, because my love for Barda, Lindal and their army of giant children will never, ever die. Who knows, maybe I'll post some new things here, or maybe I'll try my hand at rewriting some old ideas buried in the depths of my archives...

* * *

The tower presented itself as a foreboding presence against an otherwise quaint and peaceful landscape, the remnants of a once proud structure long fallen into disrepair and ruin, abandoned and left to suffer the numerous lashings of wind and rain with no one left to care for it. So bad was the damage that it was difficult to tell what the tower's original purpose had been. The once sturdy walls, numerous windows and echoes of an upper balcony might have suggested a watch tower, but its location upon the coast could just as easily point to a lighthouse, though no lantern shined at its peak. Whatever its original purpose, the tower now only served as the setting for ghost stories told to children around campfires, and a challenge to the elder children who dared to believe they were brave enough to step inside. No doubt some elder hunched over a flagon of ale in the tavern had a tale or two of their own, a memory of the tower in its prime, but as is often the way with storytellers, the details would be so twisted out of shape that only scraps of truth remained.

Standing at the foot of the old structure, Barda tipped back his head to peer up at the higher levels, eyes narrowing into a squint as he tried to make out the very top – an impossible feat, of course, from his position, but he almost felt _compelled_ to do so regardless. Tearing his gaze from the crumbling walls above, he instead took in the old wooden door that hung limply in the doorway, its hinges long rusted, the wood rotting at the base where years of damp had finally taken hold. There was no lock or chain to keep out unwanted visitors, but neither would it have mattered if there was – a shattered window and a crumbling gap immediately to the right permitted entry to anyone able to climb the sill. Small lizards and insects scuttled across the brick as he approached the door, darting out of sight into the overgrown grass and bushes that encircled the tower. Nature had truly claimed back the land here, given new life after the fall of the Shadowlord's evil many years prior.

He could smell the age and decay of the building even before he poked his head through the open, uninviting doorway, and an automatic grimace crossed his face as he laid a hand upon the wall and felt the familiar sticky threads of a spider's web. Immediately withdrawing his hand, he wiped it against the front of his jacket, and took his first tentative step into the wide hallway beyond. There was little inside left to tell any tales – the only surviving adornment upon the wall was a faded map of the local coastline and the nearest towns, torn at one edge and hanging only by one fixture in the corner. Barely giving it a second glance, Barda's gaze instead lowered to the dusty stone beneath his boots, one corner of his mouth twitching into a grim smile as he caught sight of prints amongst the dirt and dust. Some were old, partially covered over by varying thicknesses of fresh dust, but one set stood out so cleanly, so sharply, that he knew at once that they were _fresh_.

Following the tracks at first with his eyes, he traced them along a clear path towards the bottom of a stone spiral staircase that curved up and out of sight at the far end of the hallway. With a barely audible sigh, he made his way towards the staircase, his boots near silent on the stone floor as he left his own prints in the swirling dust. As he wandered further into the shadows of the tower he saw evidence of youth – a dusty blanket that still looked relatively new bundled in one corner, forgotten or abandoned, and chalky writing upon the walls that bore names and messages. Giving the names a quick, curious once-over, he was pleased to note that he only recognised one or two, and only in passing. He knew it was a common challenge amongst the teenage children to see who could stay in the 'haunted' tower the longest overnight, and during the daylight hours it served as a place to hang out, away from the prying eyes of adults who saw fit to prevent their 'fun'.

Turning away from the graffiti, he set a foot on the first step and leaned around the curve of the staircase to peer up into the gloom beyond. Breathing shallowly through his mouth to quiet even the sound of his own breath, he listened closely for sounds above, but the only response the tower gave was still, almost eerie silence. Shaking his head, Barda resigned himself to the knowledge that he was going to have to ascend if he was going to have any luck here. He spared a final glance towards the front of the hallway, and the stream of daylight that pierced the murky shadows through the open doorway and dirty window panes, and wished he had thought to bring a torch or candle to provide him with light amongst the gloom.

With a weariness he feared was becoming far too common, he ascended the staircase with slow, careful steps, falling into an old habit of treading as silently as he could even though there was no real reason to. Without even having to think about it, he measured each step with precision, shifting his weight with practiced movements that meant his approach gave only the faintest of whispers amongst the silence. It was a trick not learned on the streets of Del, playing his part of _babysitter_ to a reckless boy, nor was it learned in the palace grounds, training with the other boys who aspired to one day wear a pale blue uniform. In fact, it was a trick learned as a child, sneaking through the corridors of the palace in the depth of night, when he really ought to have been tucked up in _bed_. There was a severe punishment for children caught wandering about at night, for it was against the Rules – though he had never cared for that. The main motivation behind his need for stealth was a fear much more at home, for his mother would have forbidden him from his leisure time with friends for _years_ if he was marched home like a criminal in the dead of night.

On and on, up and up the staircase went, and twice Barda had to stop and pause, not to catch his breath, for which he was thankful, but to give his right leg momentary relief before he pushed on once more. An old injury he had once thought long healed – a sharp kick from a horse's hoof that had troubled him for months and had almost set him back in his training – had risen from the grave to plague him whenever he dared to do _too much_. It was merely another reminder that he wasn't quite as young as he used to be, and such thoughts were never welcome inside his head, and so he pushed them aside and forced himself on, telling himself there surely couldn't be much farther to go, for the tower wasn't _that_ high, was it?

Of course, what he might have perceived in _hope_ to be a relatively average-sized tower could in reality be exceptionally tall, especially given the time that had elapsed since he began his ascent, but he was _certain_ he ought to be near the top, at the very least. It was with some relief that he cast a glance up and saw the staircase open out into what appeared to be some sort of platform, and he hurried up the final stretch despite the nagging ache in his knee. The air was colder at this height, not helped by the gaping holes in three of the four walls of the chamber beyond, and the chill sea wind whistling through the stone and brick. The peak of the tower felt much more treacherous than it appeared, the wooden floorboards that lined the floor warped and splintered, rotting in several spots if the caved-in holes were anything to judge by.

A carefully placed walkway consisting of newer pieces of wood – no doubt 'borrowed' from the town – laid out a path across the dangerous floor, leading from the top of the staircase to the largest gap in the wall that faced out across the sea. A platform extended out over the edge, iron railings the last hint that someone might once have stood looking out across the waves, and it was there, against those railings, that Barda found the sole reason he had ever ventured into this damned place at all.

It still surprised him, even after two whole years, how much the boy had grown. It sounded so cliché in his mind to say it, but it truly felt like only a month ago that he had clapped a hand upon a narrow, scrawny shoulder and made a promise that he would, _one day_ , grow taller even than _he_. Whilst that was still yet to pass – and part of him hoped it never would – the boy was already to his shoulder, and still _growing_. Gone was the slender, willowy boy still adjusting to his new arms and legs after that first major growth spurt, with the soft youthful face and bright eyes full of innocence. In his place was a young man with a finely cut figure made up of broad shoulders, firm muscles, and a narrow, handsome face with cheekbones sharper than the edge of a blade.

The biggest shock of all, of course, was how _familiar_ the image was, for he had stared at it in the mirror _daily_ in his own youth. There was no doubt about it – he was most definitely his father's son.

Carefully making his way along the 'safe' walkway, Barda's eyes never once left the hunched shoulders of his eldest son, who gazed out at the sea either oblivious to his new company, or stubbornly ignoring it. As he stepped off the walkway onto a patch of floor apparently deemed safe, one of the boards creaked beneath his boot, and the sudden tensing of his son's shoulders told Barda his approach had gone unnoticed. Instantly, the boy whirled around in surprise, deep blue eyes wide for a moment before they narrowed in on his father's face, and his muscles relaxed as the threat of danger passed.

"Of course you knew to come here." The rich, deep voice was as bizarre to Barda as the mature appearance of a boy he had once carried around on his shoulders, even with the now familiar faint lilt to his words that sang of the town he was born and raised in. "But I am not sure _why_ you came."

"Oh, I think you know." Allowing the young man his own space, Barda stepped up to the iron railings some feet away from him, letting his own gaze sweep across the beautiful landscape presented to him. They were alike in more than just appearance, and any attempts to force the conversation – or confrontation – would only inspire further stubborn _brooding_. "I can think of far safer places to enjoy the view."

"Did mother send you?" Arms crossing over his chest, the young man regarded his father with suspicion, brows knitting together into a frown as he stood his ground. Barda's lips immediately curved into a smile caught somewhere between amusement and puzzlement, and he turned a quizzical look upon his son.

"Why is it that all of my children immediately assume my wife gave me a command?" Despite the tension in the boy's shoulders, Barda caught a fleeting glimpse of a smile playing at the corners of his son's lips, and mentally marked that as a point in his favour. "No, she did not _send_ me, because she did not _have_ to. Oddly enough I came to that decision all by myself, Scout." When there was no further response from his son, Barda turned back to the view, allowing a moment to pass by in silence before he spoke again. "Hard to believe it has been what, four years? Yes, that sounds about right… four years since I came here during the witching hours to bring you home. The other children started laughing at you because they thought you had planned it to avoid going into the 'haunted tower'."

"So instead of dragging me home to face punishment for sneaking out, you marched me up to the door and we spent the night sat amongst the rubble and the gloom, and you told me stories of your travels around Deltora with Lief and Jasmine until they all went home." Scout murmured, his voice weary. "I held the longest record for time spent in the tower at night for years. Until Min decided she wanted to prove the boys wrong, and beat my time." Shaking his head, he stubbornly turned his back on the landscape, and stared deep into the murk of the room.

"Your sister was always one to rise to a challenge. I would like to say she gets that entirely from your mother, but…" _She is as like me as you are, Scout._ "I am merely glad the two of you do seem to have some concept of _sense_ , unlike a fair number of your peers." When Scout scoffed lightly, Barda quirked a brow. "You doubt my assessment?"

"I doubt that you think I have _sense_ , since it certainly has not felt like it of late." The words, though laced lightly with bitterness, were not barked out with as much anger as Barda had expected. Evidently, whatever was troubling his son went far deeper than a frustration or grievance sparked by irritation. Scout had the same temper as his father, and the same triggers for his anger, and given their mutual habit of locking personal troubles away to maintain a sense of privacy, Barda had expected the seal to break and for fury to be unleashed in one fell swoop.

"Of course you have sense, Scout. You are not a fool by any stretch, and I am not the only one to think you are wise beyond your years already." Studying the stubborn set of Scout's jaw – yet another common trait they shared – Barda gave an inward sigh. "What is this about, son?"

"Do you trust me? Really?" Turning to look at him, Scout's eyes were hot with carefully restrained frustration.

"Of course I do. You have never given me reason not to."

"Then why will you not permit me to move to Del? I am old enough to take care of myself, and I have been trusted with the care of my younger brothers since I was ten years old, so you know I am more than capable of being _responsible_. When you were my age you were a palace guard, trusted with the safety and protection of the palace, with far more responsibility on your shoulders, and in a time when danger lurked just around the corner. Why should things be any different for me? We have had peace in Deltora for a little over sixteen years now. Surely it is _safe_ for me to live in a city inhabited by your _closest friends_?"

Barda said nothing for a moment, letting his son vent out his frustrations freely. The moment the first words had left Scout's lips he had known the cause for this recent incident of sullen _brooding_ , and it was an argument he hadn't expected to have. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ Scout to live his own life – far from it – and neither was it a question of trust. The truth of it was down to one simple fact: he didn't want his baby birds to leave the nest. Completely irrational, he was sure, for none of them would ever be far away nor gone for any great length of time, but it was something he simply couldn't shake off.

"When I was your age, I was a wayward youth who liked to see how far he could bend the rules without consequence, and believed he had all the time in the world to think about _sensible_ things such as marriage, and children, and the _future_. Old friends of mine like to tell the tales of how strong and skilled I was, of my incredible feats of bravery and how I was the 'best' palace guard of our generation, and whilst there is an element of truth behind each and every one, they neglect to mention my failings, too." As he spoke, the faintest of smiles crossed Barda's face as he recalled those long ago years, of the days when he saw his uniform as something to _brag_ about instead of a symbol of his duty and honour. Days when he brushed off the concerns and worries of those around him, assuring them that he would _settle down_ when he was ready to, and not a moment sooner.

Seeing the sceptical look upon Scout's face, Barda shrugged lightly, hands spreading before him in a vague gesture. "You might think it difficult to believe, but I was not always the careful, _sensible_ soldier you have grown up knowing. Indeed, it took an invasion of _evil_ before I truly understood that life was not something to breeze through thoughtlessly."

"Maybe." Scout sighed, the sound brushed with frustration. "But I _have_ thought about my life, my future – and to great extent, too. I love it here, of course, and I will miss all of you terribly, but my future does not reside in Broome. _You_ left the city of your birth, and the world did not end around you. Why would it be any different for me?" Without waiting for any kind of response, Scout stepped up to the iron railings once more, and stared out at the rolling waves beyond the cliffs. "I am _restless_ , Father. I know I am surely taking the peace for granted, given the troubles you faced against the Shadowlord, but I cannot be _content_ here."

"I understand that well enough, Scout. You and I are very much alike, in all manner of ways. I was restless once, too. I was never satisfied with how things were. I understand the need for something _more_ , believe me." It was why, he mused, he had pushed so hard to rise through the ranks of the guards, right from the moment he earned his uniform. Boys he had trained with for years had been content to wear the uniform and nothing more, but that life hadn't been for him. No – he'd wanted to prove himself, wanted to _challenge_ himself. He'd wanted that top spot, the ultimate _respect_ and authority. _And when I finally achieved it, I was a completely different man._

"Then why are you standing in my way?" Scout turned back to him again, though there was little fight left in his expression, and if anything his voice sounded as _weary_ as Barda _felt_. He didn't respond for some time, his heart already heavy with the _weight_ of his guilt over something he knew was entirely _selfish_. Instead, he kept his eyes upon the horizon, allowing the now familiar serenity of the ocean to bring him some comfort.

"I do not mean to." He said at last, lowering his gaze to the rusted iron he was leaning against. "But I am guilty of something most parents often are – I find it very difficult to _let go_." Despite himself, the corner of his lips quirked into a smile. "My own mother was guilty of it, and I remember vividly how frustrating it could be at times. I was a grown man and she looked at me as if I were still a child that needed her protection, her guidance." Glancing over at his son, his smile turned sad. "Sometimes, I feel bad for being so fed up with it, for taking her presence in my life for granted. I truly believed she would be with me for far longer, and even though I knew it to be impossible it did feel like she would live forever."

Scout remained silent, sensing that this was a time for listening, and not for arguing. The look upon his father's face was one not seen often, a certain vulnerability that the old Bear would usually lock away inside, to only rear its head when in the private presence of his wife. Even now, his mother was the only one who could bring down his father's armoured walls so easily.

"Unlike you, I had no brothers or sisters. Whilst I was never _lonely_ – I had enough friends to combat that particular trouble – I did not have the comfort of a large family, as you do. My father died when I was young, so all I had left was my mother. After the invasion… I had no one. _Nothing_. No home, no friends, and what honestly felt like no _future_. In those early days, when I was still finding ground with the couple I believed to be Jarred and Anna, I never imagined I would _ever_ have what I have now. Whenever I thought about my future I saw my own death fighting against the evil of the Shadowlord – a future that nearly came to pass more than once, though you have already heard most of _those_ stories.

"There was no time to think about myself in those days. It was a hopeless dream if I ever did, so I simply chose not to. To this day I am still surprised and amazed that I not only _survived_ , but have such a full and wonderful family. I guess that is why I am so hesitant to let you go, Scout. The rational part of my mind knows that it would not be goodbye forever, and that I would, in fact, find it very difficult to be _rid_ of you, but… well, when you have children of your own, you will learn that a parent finds it _very_ difficult to be rational when it comes to their offspring." Finally closing the gap between them, Barda stepped over to lay a hand upon Scout's shoulder. "I know I am only delaying the inevitable, and if I continue to do so it may cause a rift between us that will take time to heal. That is the last thing I want."

"Then let me find my future in Del. You said it yourself – it would not be goodbye forever. For as long as I can remember, we have travelled to Del at every possible opportunity, or we have had visitors here in Broome. If you think I could escape this family, then I do not know where your head has been for the last sixteen years." A teasing note crept into Scout's voice, and relief washed over Barda like a wave. Evidently they had avoided a confrontation that could result in _tension_ between them, and for that he was glad. _My travels with Lief and Jasmine have evidently taught me a great deal of patience when it comes to hot-headed teenagers_. "My home will always be here, in Broome, but…"

"Your heart lies in Del." Barda finished for him, a grin crossing his face when Scout's eyes filled with surprise. "I am not blind, Scout, and I would remind you again that I was your age once, and not unlike you at all. I know the signs. Whilst I am sure you have your many reasons for going to Del, would I be right in assuming one of the driving forces behind this decision is a certain raven-haired _princess_ who resides there?" Watching his son's face flush bright red gave him far more amusement and satisfaction than he had expected, but it also filled him with a _delight_ he couldn't describe. "If it eases your mind, I am certain you already have Lief's blessing."

He knew it for a fact, of course – having watched their children grow together from the beginning, it had been obvious to them all that love was sure to blossom in time. Lief had remarked casually that he would urge his children to marry for love, and love alone, and that he doubted he could think of anyone far more suited to his daughter than the eldest son of his closest friend. Barda was certain that, perhaps in a few years' time, their families would be joined together officially.

"Well, I suppose it _is_ time I loosened my grip on you – though if you do not write at least _semi_ -regularly you do understand that I _will_ be riding for Del at first light, I hope?" As Scout laughed easily, he laughed with him, and gently steered his son away from the railings, and back into the chamber at the peak of the tower.

"I would expect nothing less, Father." Leading the way back towards the stone staircase, Scout paused upon the top step, and turned back to him. His father's dark hair was only streaked with silver at the temples – a fact he held over Doom at every possible opportunity, as the other man had not aged _quite_ as well and now boasted a full head of silver hair – and he kept his beard much shorter to hide the speckles of grey, but beyond that there were few physical signs of his age to betray him. Not for the first time, Scout felt a swell of pride that this man, this strong, unbreakable, powerful man was his _father_. "I will miss you most of all, you know."

"I know." Touched, as always, by any outward display of love from his usually stoic son, Barda reached out and ruffled Scout's dark hair as he had done often when the boy was much younger – and much _shorter_. "Now, we should head back home before your mother sends your sister after us."

"So she _did_ send you. I knew it. Remind me again which one of you was the chief?" Scout grinned, ducking out from under his father's hand, and taking the steps at a light run in order to be safely _out of reach_. Barda listened to his descending steps and the laughter echoing around the stone walls, and chuckled warmly to himself before following after at a much more _sensible_ pace.

Whilst it would not be easy to adjust to, and whilst he would be sad to see Scout go, he was relieved that the problem had been resolved at last – even if it meant risking life and limb by climbing this dilapidated, dangerous tower in search of his wayward, brooding son. By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase and found his way back out into the bright afternoon, Scout was already waiting for him on the dirt road back towards the town. As he joined him upon the track, Scout slipped his hands into his pockets, and flashed him an all too familiar sly grin.

"So… tell me some more about when you were my age."


End file.
